Empty Sea vs. Fantasy
it’s friday evening. i am w/ghosts & they’re morphing
into morphine scenes, the color in off-white walls. several times i forget which of them is speaking & which storyline they expect that i’m keeping. i’m dreaming. i’m peeling off in layers on the ceiling. the seasick queen waves to the feelings i’m seeing. they’re not talking anymore. so i check the windows, check the door. i light the stove for warmth & wait there for hours, thinking of the songbirds i’ve stifled. the flowers i’ve grown & admired, petals sharp like a rifle. Commentsiluvchopstix says:your poetry i love.
les bâtiments cursifs
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mirrorballet
says:
you are fun
Posted 24 months ago. ( permalink )